How I Became A Poet

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Back in 2009,
I stood inside my home, no longer
Holding a brilliant job,
Humbled by the sheer mastery
Of how fate can work magic against you.
And from inside my well, I drew a bucketful
Of an ingredient, not found in my bucket list.
It was just an arrangement of words
That loomed under a title “arranged marriage”.
I guess you can say that was the start
Of how I counted my blessings,
As I said “I do” to a vow, to keep by her,
In thick and thin, in writers block
And inked genius, in whaling moments
And bread crumb tokens.
And this had all the hallmarks of
An arranged marriage. It was convenient,
And ad-hoc, it was sweet and yet synthetic,
Even after the hour of consummation
Was all gone and what remained
Was a road taken, with a beauty by my side,
Who would beautify my world,
In naked exhibition, and moistening epiphanies,
When at the cul-de-sac of a poem,
I stood wanting more of the dead end,
That sublime ending, that stood
Like a sugared donut, every bite
An explosion of a maddening sweetness,
Until I was, deprived of, what I had tasted,
Jumping from the edge of a cliff,
From a point of acme, to an abyssal nadir,
Just like an orgasm.